I'm not you!
by skadalex
Summary: What fascinates Misaki so much that it draws him for two nights a week away from home? When Akihiko decided to look for his boy's whereabouts around the town, little he knew how much trouble to everybody involved would cause his chance encounter with a stranger who has more in similar with him than the name. M for later. (Akihiko U. x Misaki T., Shinobu T., Akihito T. x Asami R.)
1. Chapter 1The adventurer, the stalker and

**A/N: Hello everyone for the first time! I started this as a pure Junjou Romantica story, but later decided to mix in the famous Finder couple, to thoroughly confuse all Junjou guys and explore the situation when the two self-confident semes meet with their boys around. It gave the storyline a quite different spin that I hope both fandoms would you are not familiar with the Finder's characters don't worry, you shall gather everything necessary about them throughout the story.**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own.**

**At last, I'm grateful to CheyanneChika for helping me with my first fantic and English.**

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**I'm not you!**

**Part 1: The adventurer, the stalker and the stranger.**

Misaki. The little brat packed up his bag and left. Once the door closed shut and silence settled over the outsized living room, Akihiko slumped on the sofa with a long frustrated sigh. Suddenly, the large space became overwhelming as the stillness created by his fussy lover's absence swelled. He recalled the manner, in which Misaki had hightailed it out of their apartment with an usual brusque and vague explanation. Over and over, the scene replayed itself in his mind as it repeated during the last couple of months. A clear pattern.

After receiving a phone call from Shinobu, at the same hour, on the same days of every week, Misaki would take off in pursuit of this new diversion from his everyday life. With a peck on Akihiko's cheek, chirping that he was just going out with a friend till late night and would be all right, in a blur of slender limbs and chocolate hair the boy would disappeared from his sight.

Initially amusing, the mysterious departures went on, and on, while bit by bit Akihiko's patience was wearing thin. In fact, this fragile virtue of his was almost gone.

The novelist curled his fingers into the fists, itching for a smoke as he started pondering the easiest way to determine Misaki's actions. Shinobu's other half was first on his list.

He could simply ask Miyagi for information but, in doing so, he would debase his brilliant self and his solid logic he used so skillfully in his writing. On top of that, being mocked and torn down because of his failure to figure it out himself would be a humiliating experience he didn't really desire to have.

He could also question Shinobu, but that little smart ass might enjoy sending him around in circles, and he would be probably dismissed with nothing but a bunch of sarcastic remarks.

Aside from the obvious 'cons', it was absolutely embarrassing after five years of a fairly solid relationship to drag the answers out from somebody other than his own partner. But he could not interrogate Misaki. A single word kept Akihiko paralyzed, flashing constantly in front of his eyes like a signal light with the command. Trust.

Discouraged and filled with misery Akihiko growled under his breath, grunted, then grabbed and cuddled his only ever-present companion Suzuki-San in a tight bear hug. Again and again, there was always a 'but' which didn't help to solve the riddle of what the hell fascinated and enticed his lover for two nights a week away from home. He desperately wanted to know; the curiosity and pride, the two essentials of his nature, quickly took over any respectful attitude.

He hadn't stayed clueless for long though. Akihiko's purple irises snaked toward the adjoined kitchen as he took in the straight long line of the now thoroughly cleaned, almost sanitized counter top. A smirk around his mouth grew into a full smile.

Akihiko was a physical person; physical was written in his every action. While words might be misleading, body language was how he assessed the mindset of others. Especially in the case of Misaki's mind. On other hand, Misaki intended to be totally non-physical. Yet, he only tried. Once Akihiko got his hands on the boy, he was never able to hold his coy, naïve facade without dents and cracks. Throughout the last month, this, in the past highly controlled appearance, had been completely falling apart.

The shy touch of their parting kiss, imprint of which still tingled on his skin was in a stark contrast to his lover's recent performances. Akihiko rested his feet on the coffee table in repose. Even this had become the victim of their more adventurous lovemaking. In fact, there wasn't a spot in the room that they had not used for-as Misaki would say-'those things they do'. Like a cat, he stretched his satisfied body, closed his eyes and let the currents of quivering, hot pulsations stream down his sinewy tights, reminders of the pleasures from the previous night.

Misaki let his body flow sweetly and like waves, fluent and graceful, in ways that stole his breath and focus more times than he could count. Intensive swimming with Akihiko had never done the trick for the boy in years, although the exercise had pleasantly shaped his figure.

A different type of relaxing activity must have been involved. The activity that must be enjoyable also for the spoiled, rich, yet intelligent and overworked law student that Shinobu was. Misaki found a liking in the outgoing youth on the fated night of Hiroki`s birthday dinner and soon the fast friendship developed between the boys. As far as Akihiko knew, Shinobu and 'sport', on the contrary, had never been friends.

There was only one option,

….even though, there were too many options in Tokyo!

Despite the fact that he had done his homework thoroughly, the first few spots on his quest for the boys were clearly misses. About half a dozen more followed and failed, as did the innumerable amount of calls he made to Misaki's phone. Today, instead of getting the same annoying message: "_We are sorry, the number you have reached is not in service this time. Please check the number, or try your call again_," Misaki's voice recited his voicemail intro.

Akihiko kept calling.

He hit the redial button again, standing under the purple neon sign of one of the classy Aoyama night clubs; spectacular for a cascading tree level dance floor with a waterfall illusion - Ciel.

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Behind its impassive exterior wall, this high energy dance venue bounced in the rhythm of a top-chart mantra. Among the mob bewitched by the song, Misaki's palm instinctively clasped over his persistently vibrating phone, before he stopped in his movements for umpteenth time.

"What?" mouthed slightly irritated Shinobu dancing across him.

He pulled out his cell and showed its display flashing 'Usagi', through the bluish laser lights.

The music shifted and played a new song conjuring a smile on his new friend's face. The smile that was far from innocent; infected with contagious mischief it carried a clear suggestion. Their eyes met, and in the next second all Misaki's inhibitions flew to the air just as his hand clutching the phone flew up into the vibrating music; there, he pressed 'Receive'.

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Outside, Akihiko froze mid-step with the phone receiver against his ear, for this time the blasted thing had answered. An aggressive influx of music pierced his head along with his pride from side to side.

" _Stop calling, I don't wanna think anymore, I left my head and heart on the dance floor. Stop calling, stop calling don't wanna talk anymore, I left my head and heart on the dance floor…"-_

"_Stop telephonin' me, (Stop telephonin' me)_

_I'm busy (I'm busy). _

_Stop telephonin' me, Stop telephonin' me I'm busy (I'm busy)…."_

Pulling himself together, he tried to digest the words while with the last suspicious glance at the shiny facade and regenerated hope, he moved on as fast as possible toward the entrance. The time was crucial.

To pay double for otherwise reasonable admittance proved to be the most efficient tactic of getting in without any unnecessary conversation. Being dressed up his usual way, though without the tie, with dress shirt partly unbuttoned in the expensive suit and with no-less pricy accessories, did its job as well.

The Bouncer mumbled, "The club is full for tonight so you consider yourself lucky," and let him into a dark short corridor ending with an equally dark door that opened from inside. In an instant, his senses squirmed under the approaching hurricane of lights and sounds; the sounds identical to the ones coming out from his phone.

With Ray Bans on, he followed the glassy catwalk oblivious of the striking sight he cut in wild rhythm that punctuated and sped up his every step to the center of the bar above the waste dance floor. Another platform, surrounded by a shiny railing, spread in the distance front of him. Unfortunately, the third one stayed hidden from his vantage point.

But perhaps, he was really lucky since in a short moment he spotted Miyagi's genius on the second floor. Next, still holding the receiver close to his ear, still listening to the overwhelming resonance of the song that never seemed to end, Akihiko shifted his eyes to the recipient of his phone call who obviously enjoyed letting him know:

"_Not that I don't like you, I'm just at a party, And I am sick and tired of my phone r-ringing….Tonight I'm not takin' no calls', Cause I'll be dancing'_

_I'll be dancin'_

_I'll be dancin'' _

He stood transfixed, his gaze set on the dazzling image of delicate fingers holding the cell phone above all of them - like field of sweet grass stems, swerving into the slightest blow of a gentle wind, bodies as one, flexed to the frenzy of the maddening song. However, there was a limit to the poetics he could connect with the dancing his lover had been indulging in immensely. Moreover, he was brilliant in it. Akihiko submitted to a violent tug at his heartstrings, as he saw the boy finally so uninhibited, even wild. Yet, at the same time he felt exasperated. And he felt hurt.

In order to settle down his schizophrenic emotions, he briefly skimmed shelves made of exotic wood behind the bar, and asked one of the bartenders for his favourite red Bordeaux. He was halfway through the glass, still observing with feigned indifference the wild swarm of locals and foreigners alike when the atmosphere drastically changed.

Purplish blue light combined with streaks of azure made his dark lavender suit go almost indigo, while his bright scarf and silver hair started to glow. To assume the previous music had extremely abused his hearing was plainly mistake; the noisy hell just broke loose.

On the lowest dance floor, the human crowd formed a huge circle in the middle of which a group of extreme break dancers just started their _"party rock in the house tonight"_ and _"having their good time"_ invigorated by massive beat of pop-techno mix._ "…"And we gonna make you lose your mind" _that roared through the air camequite close to being his reality.

Time to go.

In one swift gulp Akihiko finished the wine watching Misaki over the brim of his glass. His lover happily stomped to the rhythm with the rest of the crowd gathered along the balustrade, cheering the performers. An idea of self-satisfaction, one which he could not classify by any means as nice, but highly soothing his ruffled ego, struck his thoughts.

The novelist spun on the stool. Drunk on his high and a little bit wicked spirit, he took his phone up from the bar, dialed the number and waited. After Misaki picked up, he put the device carefully back, and with a warm feeling of content, let the thing absorb and transmit racket that surrounded them, delivering a clear message of its own.

He was about to turn back to witness Misaki's reaction to the surprise, when he came face to face with a stranger. A man reeking of money and power was his first impression of the dark, polished type about his own age, wearing the same brand suit and with the same, natural ease Akihiko had. He was, the novelist had to admit, a notably handsome as well.

Suddenly the world around them somehow dimmed into the background; even sound of the music seemed to recede a bit when a full glass of wine was pushed next to his empty one in silent invitation.

On instinct he turned off and packed away his cell, ready to leave.

" On the house," came sooner than he managed to get up from the stool.

Akihiko hesitated off a little, waiting to see what would happen next, but the newcomer would not move a muscle, lazily inclined against the bar with an elbow resting on its polished top.

"… _a 'p-p-poker face"_, fittingly echoed a new refrain in a short-chopped devilish tempo.

"Thanks, I would rather not." He cut the words clearly, in as much well-bred manner as he could muster.

"Then, perhaps this?" The importunate man with a completely undisturbed countenance, which quite unsettled Akihiko, straightened and out of his pocket pulled an open pack of cigarettes before he offered one to the novelist. They were stronger than what he used to smoke from time to time but, in such precarious circumstances one could do no harm. He made a wide sweeping gesture, questioning if it would be appropriate here.

In a pleasantly deep voice his momentary companion, who obviously felt at home in this surrounding, patiently explained. "At the bar is only place you are allowed to smoke, ventilation above us is very efficient."

The first familiar whiff of smoke in his lungs calmed him down sufficiently enough to process the situation he was stuck in. He hadn't actually planned to stay or drag his boyfriend home and completely ruin boys' night out. He'd only wished to see Misaki's expression after receiving his 'meaningful' call that would have been enough compensation for his vast effort to reveal their whereabouts. Now, he was deprived of even this pleasure thanks to the very attractive, but nonetheless the annoying, man. Knowing one for what one is, Akihiko knew better than to dismiss him in his standard fashion. So through the clenched teeth, he tried his best to be polite.

"Why?"

"It's a shame to waste so much money for so short a stay." The man's false concern was punctuated by a half-smile.

"Guess it goes on account of my ignorance that I didn't predict to be under such thorough surveillance coming in here." He returned his best professional smirk, "Is it the habit of this place to scrutinize its customers?" The question seemed to be needless even foolish at the moment. Nevertheless his urge to bite was too great to ignore.

"Not all of them, only those who stand above the usual crowd," the man answered nonchalantly. The softness, however, vanished from his sculpted features and Akihiko reminded himself that suits are worn exactly to occasion: as his was casual, this fellow's was meant for business. Still, so far nothing from their dialog sounded hostile. And if they had met under different circumstances, although the place was appropriate for such an opportunity, he would have concluded that the guy was hitting on him.

"I assume the 'short' stay," Akihiko pointed out matter of fact, not bothering to hide dissent behind the words, "…was enough to check on my curriculum vitae."

"I didn't need to do it in your case, I read newspapers more or less regularly."

"Well," Akihiko sighed slightly riled up. While he would never admit openly in front of anybody-with exception of Misaki-how much this type of compliment boosted his self-esteem, it didn't mean he, himself, would ignore it. "As we can skip introduction on my part, who do I have the honour of meeting?"

"I own this place. For more than that, I believe you have your own trustworthy information sources." The man leisurely tapped his cigarette against the ashtray as he effortlessly followed the set manner of their dialog, sleekly polite, flirting on the edge of conscientiousness. "It's sheer curiosity… but to what do we owe your visit here?"

Fine, finally they got closer the core of things.

"Perhaps a need for inspiration." He elegantly puffed out another cloud of smoke. Contemplating his new acquaintance through a light blue fog, he carefully formulated his next question. "Why am I the subject of your interest?"

The owner of Ciel seemed to be amused. "There is a certain power in using words to sway people's opinions don't you think?" His handsome face shifted closer, the words hitting Akihiko's ear directly. The talented novelist, the winner of international literature awards forcibly fancied their sudden, almost intrusive proximity as a result of the noisy surrounding and their inability to hear each other properly, when..."But, I guess this place is not to your taste after all, not inspiring enough". A business card, conjured seemingly from the air, was offered to him. "We are more alike than you imagine."

The golden letters embedded into the black satin background read 'Club Sion'. He had come across the name as both, the famous writer and the son of a rich corporate leader. Now, for certainty Akihiko could label the guy and the realization chilled and thrilled him at the same time.

The hard craft piece of paper slid between his slim fingers feeling dangerous, like species of some poisonous insect that might bite when one tries to touch it.

"I may influence people's wills in a ways I believe correct, but I do not bend or break them for my interests." He pierced one of the Tokyo underworld's controlling minds with a cold stare, masking enormous effort to render his speech to a composed tone. "We are like day and night. I'm certain our worlds are different. They do not collide."

"Oh, I like your analogy! How fitting; literally and figuratively." His radiant golden eyes under the dark strands of fringe twinkled with a humour that didn't bode well with Akihiko. "Except you know, opposites attract each other." His light laugh was dark too, yet captivating. The fact that Akihiko liked its charm or the ease with which this 'gentleman rogue' dismissed his previous apt insinuation chafed him to the point that he almost crushed his joint into particles.

He could have been anything from graciously charming to dismissively sarcastic in his approach, but he had never been reserved. Akihiko detested treacherously cultured behaviour that the gangster had obviously perfected. He had often connected it with his father and the twisted business tactics his old man constantly forced into their family dealings. Yet, from all the excruciating experiences he had unintentionally learned thing or two.

In spite of the internal distress, the novelist nodded his farewell casually as he let the business card fall on the top of the bar and, with what he considered as a parting wisp of an uninterested glance, he attempted to take his leave. "There is a one golden rule you must already know. Good walls make good neighbours." No sooner had he dropped the last word of advice from his regal high during a little abrupt pause in the ever present ruckus.

Unluckily, Akihiko's departure was thwarted for the second time. To his satisfaction, the bold statement had made the club owner eyes widen in brief surprise, but the yakuza didn't have time to react further as his attention shifted to his cell phone. The handsome face stilled while he listened to people on the other end. His sharply cut features never shifted, only a light closing of his eyelids for a moment revealed his emotions. Concern perhaps.

Akihiko assumed he shouldn't care and decided to walk away before that pleasant baritone stopped him dead.

"You might want to come with me."

TBC

A/N: Songs used: Telephone and Poker Face from Lady Gaga and Party Rock from LMFAO to string Akihiko.

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**Thank you for your time and reading. Your suggestions, questions, opinions, are very, very appreciated and helpful, you know that…:)**


	2. Chapter 2 The Unfortunates

**Hello to the next chapter. It's about the boys this time, a complete set of them, including Akihito.*  
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**Part 2: **

**The Unfortunates.**

Akihiko walked with the yakuza through a maze of narrow corridors and staircases immersed in darkness. The treacherous environment, he naturally linked to the taste of his guide, disturbed him considerably. Still, he was thankful for its lack of light as it hid the apprehension splattered over his face.

He didn't dare to think about extent of the underground businessman's tentacles. He didn't want to imagine the explicit details he might know about Akihiko's personal life either. The man must have learned the purpose of his visit to the club even before they met. Though he could not fathom exactly why, Misaki's presence somewhere there—at the end of their stroll—could be the only reason behind the yakuza's invitation to join him. Like a fog, uncertainty and worry engulfed his every thought, holding him on pins and needles, as he obediently followed the man.

The man who evidently possessed more senses of a cat than those of a human moved in front of him with fast and steady steps, while Akihiko himself barely stumbled along. _One, two, three…_ He tried to distract his troubled mind by counting the stairs.

Bang!

He hit a wall of solid muscles that rippled under the expensive suit. His hands shot out. In panic he scrabbled and grabbed around for something to save him from a spectacular fall…anything.

"I don't appreciate groping." A half-hearted threat, with no small amount of amusement, ended hushed shuffling and fumbling.

A mix of anger and humiliation jolted Akihiko's already strained nerves.

"One could not tell!" he spat out the words briskly when he gained some stability without holding convulsively onto the man's arm and waist. "Any good guide would usually warn the people about a direction change or stop…not just stop!"

"And I don't appreciate offensive remarks either." The crime lord added in the same "playful" manner of his, "And yes, we are stopping here."

If not for the wariness Akihiko felt, if not for the holster he'd accidentally palmed under the man's arm, he would show this arrogant snob who is more apt in verbal skirmishes. Disgusted with himself for his own cowardice, he swallowed his pride and let the jabbing comments go.

The sheer volume of space in the empty lounge was what overwhelmed him the most. Suitable for art galleries or museums, over-run with glass walls the hall spanned through the several stories up to seemingly endless high. Across from them, along the wall, behind which a spectacle of Tokyo's night-life ran quietly like a movie on the silver screen, a dozen tables were lined up in a row. A couple of them had been occupied by a group of rather dishevelled customers: three boys, Shinobu between them, forcibly held back by bouncers, one curled up on a chair and, in what seemed a secure distance from him, another sat bleeding.

Misaki!

The atmosphere hanging over boys' heads felt thick and heavy, the tension in it almost tangible. With a golden halo of disordered hair framing his fine boned features, the fair boy on the chair was definitely the eye-catcher of the group. In contrast to his angelic face, he exuded an aura more like that of a devil. He was currently competing with Misaki in an intense glaring game. The boys' eyes, brilliant and sharp, were cutting through each other with rage that halted his steps even before both youths turned with the same ferocity toward them and in unison spat:

"Why are you here?!"

He was taken aback, as was his underworld companion. By now, Akihiko could read the club owner's body posture to certain extent. His face didn't change one bit, nothing other than a slight shift in his stance signified surprise and, given to his lofty nature, displeasure as well.

First to recover, Akihiko let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and rushed to crouch by his lover's feet.

"Hey, does it hurt a lot?" he asked softly. In haste, he pulled out his handkerchief and went to clean the blood from the split lip, while Misaki struggled with his bleeding nose.

"Why are you here?"

Seeing disappointment replace fierceness in those beautiful jade eyes hurt more than seeing his partner enjoy playing the stupid phone prank on him. It did hurt as much as being excluded from this uninhibited portion of Misaki's life. In an instant, he regretted his reckless invasion into Ciel, but there was no 'reset button' he could press and take his egoistic action back. So he went beyond his limits with intention to apologize and comfort the youth's hurt ego, and yet, mindful of his own.

"Don't be mad at me…please… I had lost my patience and wasn't thinking clearly when I decided to go after you," the novelist pleaded in voice full of remorse making up for the fact that it was barely audible.

Not that what he believed to be a heartfelt admission of guilt and contrition in one broke through his partners unusually cold stance. When he tried to reach out and press the white fabric against the wound, Misaki flinched away, slapped off his hand, rejecting him again.

"Don't bother! Rather, let's go home Usag…Usami-san."

The novelist didn't know what surprised him more, the sharp retort or the sharp gasp he noticed it elicited from the other boy. Misaki noticed as well, according to his suspicious look, hostility of which bored holes through the pretty blond. Before he could start pondering all the reasons behind Misaki's extreme aggression, with an apparent pain the boy rose clumsily up to stare at him in astonishment. Akihiko was baffled.

The professional part of his brain logically attributed young man's abrupt interest in him to the 'Usami Sensei the famous author' status. Although, he immediately doubted his conclusion when an alarmed guard jumped to support the injured boy, turned toward the Ciel owner and asked, "Asami-sama, what are we going to do about him?"

Now, the same astonishment mirrored in Misaki's green irises. After a moment, they became frantic, switching from the boy to the man, as if puzzling some mystery with only a vague understanding of it.

"I don't need a babysitter!" The exasperated blond shrugged the guard off but, oddly enough, shot the angry words at Akihiko's new acquaintance-a 'grey eminence' behind the Tokio's prominent underworld club, whom he now had a name for; a name almost identical to his own.

Unaffected, Asami crossed his arms over his chest "I see... And then perhaps you give us an explanation about what happened inside."

Until now, the novelist assumed yakuza's concern for the matter to be the one of property owner in whose facility an accident occurred. Maybe, this was not the case. Akihiko peered curiously at the yakuza. The man that, moments ago, considered an accidental touch offensive, even worth of a threat, now patiently bore the hostile onslaught from...this whelp?

Given the rising level of shock in his lover's gaze, Misaki's perception of these two was absolutely the same. At the back of his mind, in his unbound imaginary world, the novelist started to piece together a theory.

After moment of utter silence and determined staring at the ground, even the tranquil yakuza's patience was wearing thin; his strict gaze pierced the boy.

"Akihito?"

Akihiko's head mechanically jerked up at sound of the first few letters of his name, just as Misaki's dropped down into his hands to hide mortifying comprehension on his crimson face. Too late, he still caught his expression and started to believe that what, until now had been his bizarre scenario of the night leading to the current situation among the boys, didn't fall too far from the reality.

"You are not obliged to explain anything to him!" screamed an outraged Shinobu from behind them as Akihito kept refusing to answer. After he succeeded in wrenching himself from the bouncer's grasp, the future lawyer calmed his breath enough to add in dignified manner, "At least not from the legal point of view."

Akihiko, to his shame, only now closely examined Misaki's friend's dishevelled appearance. It was freshly accompanied by reddened cheeks and desperate eyes that went wide when Ciel's owner twisted toward him with an outstretched finger.

"You. A nice try…but it won't save you from talking." The yakuza's golden sight, promising no mercy, swept over the abashed group teamed up in defiant silence.

Feeling like he was their last resort of help, Akihiko decided it was time to intervene. He owed Misaki that much, besides,thequarrelling trio threatened to leave them all in another, altogether different predicament. So as the one most proficient with words, the novelist stood and cleared his throat. "I'm certain there will be another opportunity for the young men to explain this unfortunate…misunderstanding," he started casually; it always worked when he wanted to wiggle out from his own nasty situations.

Then he switched into concerned tone. "For now, I would like to thank you for your assistance and for bringing me to my partner." He ignored the wincing Misaki. "He obviously doesn't feel well and I would like to take him and his friend to the hospital. I see the young man here is in no better shape." Akihiko pointed out at yakuza's most likely soft point, even though he suspected the man was already updated on the boy's state during the phone call. The injury probably wasn't serious; otherwise he would not stand here so calm and fought for a pointless explanation.

Surprisingly or not, Asami was willing to play along, though he added a few rules of his own. After he nodded with the understanding, he unceremoniously slipped Sion's business card into Akihiko's breast pocket.

"For another opportunity," he offered. "I hope that there will be a chance for proper introductions…and for an apology that the boys owe each other for tonight's incident." Then he added, in an amused tone only for Akihiko's ears to hear, "If I'm correct?"

Ah, here we go again! Akihiko let out an exasperated sigh. As expected, the man was a master of manipulation. The self-assured snake didn't miss any opportunity to confront him again. Because confrontation, it was! Even he admitted that they had more in common than their names—he quickly narrowed 'more' to the same trail of immediate thoughts—it didn't mean he would be friendly with the guy at any time ever.

"Only if they are willing." Akihiko tried to negotiate the invitation, hoping that consent to meet each other again, would never enter their minds.

"Of course, that's the condition." With a presumptuous smile, Asami agreed too readily to his liking.

* * *

...

"What?" Misaki barked from behind an icepack, unnerved by quizzical eyes Akihiko kept on him all the way in the lift to the penthouse. Even though Misaki had all rights to be back in the hot-tempered mode, Akihiko could not resist teasing his impulsive lover.

"I'm still waiting to hear why my presence in the dance club had such disastrous effect on you," he asked, not bothering to suppress a smirk tugging corners of his mouth. "Though, when that's healed, it will look manly." He ruffled the boy's hair with sincere affection before he bent down and tenderly kissed his split lip. Then promptly dodged the icepack flying toward his head.

...

* * *

One week later, Akihiko still had no answer…no sex either.

Usually, without flinching, he would 'attack' his lover and subdue his oh so responsive body, makinghim succumb to hiswill. However, he knewit wasn't going to work this time. Misaki's enmity and withdrawal ran deeper than simple exasperation or shame.

So the novelist played Mr. Doesn't-Give-a-Damn when Misaki retreated to his bedroom he hadn't used in years. But not only had the boy physically locked himself in his old living space, it felt as if he locked his soul away from Akihiko as well.

Misaki's anger lessened and turned inward. It gave way to guilt, moved to reproach and finally settled on contempt. At first, the young man was riled up for being stalked to the club, the result being a brawl between youths for the reason Akihiko could guess. Yet he believed, there was something else bothering his lover even more. During that unfortunate night, this good-natured and occasionally impulsive boy must have committed some crime against his usual kind and thoughtful manners; something that was not Akihiko's , Misaki was regretting deeply his act.

Akihiko feigned nonchalance and suppressed, with mammoth effort, the urge to console his lover each time he saw the constant internal monologue of profound self-bashing going on behind his distant could sense Misaki's misery in the tastelessness of his usually fantasticfood. He could touch it in the dust of his once spotless apartment. The chilling feeling of Déjà vu struck him, of a home: quiet, cold and impersonal. A home without Misaki's caring touch. It scared him but he had to endure their momentary situation that, according to his estimate, shouldn't have continued for long.

He had set up a trap. A sophisticated trap!

Like a psychologist amateur, he was sure that the time would come when his beloved would need to pour his frustration out, to share a burden on his mind and relieve his beaten up conscience. Akihiko, even if lacking in anything else as a partner, would be there for Misaki in the role of a patient and compassionate listener. Now, he had only to wait.

Indeed as expected, in the early evening a few days later, Misaki entered his study. He carried something close to determination in his face and a printout document with a familiar looking business card in his hand.

The boy circled the room first, as though not completely sure he was going to stay and Akihiko began pretending to work. His fingers slowed and then flowed over the keypad, aimlessly typing non-existent words while hidden behind the laptop he watched Misaki's every step. His partner occupied himself by shutting the blinds on the ceiling high windows. It was a job he used to do regularly, since the novelist had never bothered to block the intrusive glow of the city out. When dimness engulfed the room and a Tiffany lamp on his desk became the only source of light, the boy finally halted in its ray**. **Positioning himself almost in the man's shade, without words he demanded his lover's full attention and Akihiko eagerly obliged.

"Who is this guy?" The shiny, black item was pressed into his palm, "I saw him give it to you."

Akihiko's features, initially ready to be sympathetic, hardened when a quiet, concrete foreboding whispered to him that his little game might be steered in a direction he had never planned. "Where did you get that?"

"From the breast pocket of your jacket that I was getting ready for the dry cleaner. You forgot to take it out." Misaki shifted back a step but looked no less determined.

"Don't concern yourself," a flash of panicked fear, or rather instinctual self-preservation, nearly made him cast the business card off into the bin by his feet and raise his voice to suspicious height. Only in the last second did he manage to curb it into a mildly disinterested tone.

"I'm not concerned about the man," Misaki started vehemently. "I'm concerned about his…his—" he couldn't finish thank to his natural uneasiness with the topic. His head bent toward the floor, his silky, chocolate hair covered his face and fresh pink crept up his bared neck. The trait that always endeared Misaki to his heart, at the moment lost its charm on him; strained by apprehension as he was.

"His pretty boy toy?"

"Why have you to use such outrageous words?!" Fingers curled into his palms, Misaki jumped into the verbal fight. "Let's say partner—or do you consider me a boy toy too?!"

"You should know better!" He gave out an undignified whine. "I don't think that one," he stuck out the business card front of Misaki's nose in dramatic manner, "got into interpersonal relationship so far as to call somebody 'his partner'; maybe 'bed partner'."

Misaki stood rooted to the spot, staring in disbelief while Akihiko realized he'd gone too far. He was too worked up these days. His egotistic, bodily starved self was going to do anything to get laid.

"I want to meet with him."

"No," Akihiko said flatly.

"No?"

"No."

"Why?"

The novelist took his glasses off, placed them carefully together with the business card next to the notebook and pressed the cool pads of his fingers against his tired eyes. From behind them, he peeked accusingly at the evil piece of thick coated paper, the little detail he'd overlooked. The petty, little, pervasive thing, coming repeatedly back like an uninvited guest, was turning his fairly innocent, though not exactly fair to Misaki, and seemingly grandiose scheme against him!

"Misaki," he sighed, feeling exhausted and already halfway defeated by the boy's well-intentioned persistence. He hadn't wanted his unaware lover to get any more involved with the Japanese Underworld. Only Misaki would care enough to want to save a complete stranger from a deadly Yakuza boss, the stranger who most likely wouldn't even want any rescue. "We are not going to get in—"

"Why?!" Misaki repeated alarmed, then scrutinized his lover with caution. "What happened? I don't recall you being so atrocious toward anybody who you barely know!"

"There is nothing in it all, just…" Akihiko placed his hands over his knees clad in the grey slacks and leaned toward his partner. He braced himself against them firmly as he tried to stare the boy down. "Misaki, these people are trouble. I mean serious trouble."

"So are you!" Misaki's temper snapped at last. It left him, in the next second, mortified and red all the way to the roots of his hair.

Akihiko perked up, hoping to take advantage of the turn of the events. And yet, to his astonishment, Misaki ignored his own embarrassment. Single mindedly**,** the boy was pushing with all his might through the situation toward his goal.

"Here." Misaki pulled out another ace before Akihiko could speak again. He laid a slightly crumpled document, hidden behind his back until now, on to the office desk.

Akihiko bent close over the small letters, barely visible in the faintly illuminated room, while he read the title aloud:

"Confidential Agreement between Usami A. & Takahashi M.?!"

His head snapped back up, his eyes wide, he gaped at Misaki with comprehension. Scorn, wonder and yes, pride, all at once twisted his face into a ridiculous grimace. The fledgling had learned a thing or two after all those years living by his side. Brilliant! Misaki wasn't gonna leave anything to chance this time. And, if Akihiko was honest with himself, he fully deserved his distrust.

"I shall tell you what happened in Ciel." Encouraged by his reaction, though seemingly oblivious to it, Misaki continued with lifted voice and index finger, "You will understand why I want to meet with him. But you must not use anything of what I say in your stupid BL novels!"

"Here, sign this agreement and I can start." He stressed by pointing at the dashed line under the short paragraph Akihiko had briefly read, "I know you are dying to hear the explanation from _me_."

Even shocked and constantly gnawed at by desire to confirm his theory, Akihiko was not the least enticed by the idea of meeting the mysterious and imposing Asami again.

Suddenly, Misaki's face swooped down to his eye level and they looked directly at each other. Violet and green merged into one sight.

"Please, just sign it."

Akihiko contemplated the situation once again. With this, a bit of listening and an unpleasant meeting with a Yakuza boss, he could save Misaki's dignity, if it was what his boy was keenly striving for —and perhaps get the sex he was desperately in need of. Filled with affection, he picked the bullet pen that had his name engraved in the shiny steel, a Christmas present from the tender-hearted boy, and signed.

Misaki, who, unknowingly, had again wrapped his lover around his little finger, didn't wait for him to finish. He'd already settled on the sofa beside his desk, just safely out of the embarrassing light coming from the lamp, and fiddled with Suzuki-san. Akihiko handed him the paper and he opened his mouth to start the story about the reckless presumption he had made. On that boy's—on Akihito's account.

TBC

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**AN:** I joined two shorter chapters into one, hope it wasn't so long.

About Sion's (not Asami's) business card: I assumed that a yakuza would not plaster his name on any business card.

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading and, your opinions matter!  
**


	3. Chapter 3 The rivals and hooligans

A/N: Finally, Misaki's story with Akihito.

* * *

**The rivals and hooligans.**

_Last week at Club Ciel…_

"Do you like what you see?"

A simple question Shinobu asked started the avalanche of disastrous events of that night. Until then, Misaki's time in the club had been a blast.

The buoyant ambience of the dance house helped to strip him of his own embarrassment and lack of control over the depth of his own feelings. He shoved down the stomach wrenching turbulence that took over him when his ardent lover Akihiko-san, for this trait fittingly nicknamed Usagi-san, was around. Elated and exhilarated, that's how Misaki felt now. And wild.

He could let everything go.

He could move freely to his body's desire, in ways he hadn't thought about. Until the last month, he hadn't believed he possessed this ability to purge the insecurities from his system, to release his bottled up frustration, not through the usual quick-tempered tantrums but through dance. Dance that was violently untamed, erotic, sexy…

He was the unrestrained here, where nobody was watching, where nobody cared.

Ah, except the sympathetic guy next to him, also cheering for dancers on the main floor, who with the flashing grin mouthed in Misaki's direction, "Banger, isn't it?"

Already well versed in the club's slang, Misaki nodded and sent back his smile of appreciation toward the bright boy. His ruffled hair caught all the tones of silver in the laser lights, as he stood casually nursing a drink in his hands. Leaned against the railing, with a slight sway of his slender hips, the stranger was nothing if not appealing.

Misaki gasped, horrified, when the realization reached his brain. Even if his five-year relationship with Akihiko had given him a solid base to believe he had a thing for men and he was no longer ignorant of this fact, it was still the first time he'd perceived somebody else the way he did his lover.

Yeah, he was definitely attracted to a certain type—Akihiko's type, to be exact.

He forced another smile at the boy, reminding himself of the source of his misery and his joy, his Usagi-san, who should have been patiently waiting for him at home.

Terrified of being ridiculed and called a silly teenager, Misaki was still reluctant to share this new indulgence with the most important person in his life. Regret weighed his good mood down as he found himself wishing for Akihiko to be the one beside him. He wanted to jump next to his…lover; dance and tug at his pale neck and kiss him in front of everybody, just because they wouldn't care. Oh hell, he wanted to take him to the toilets, just because he could as they were both males…well, the possibilities were endless.

Misaki paused, mid-step. Where were these freakishly shocking thoughts coming from?!

The blood in his veins undeniably heated a few degrees up and started to pool between his legs. He tightened his grip on the cool steel pipe of the rail. The force of his momentary desire made the circulation in his fingers stop and his foot tap, double-speed, against the laminate floor.

How come he always wanted those things but never acted? Too much love perhaps? Too much dominance from his partner? Was that the reason behind his shyness? Over the time they'd spent together, it had just slowly gotten better and he had to admit this tempo bothered Akihiko, although he never complained. 'Slowly' bothered even Misaki. But here and now, it was not the right place or time to break the speed record in getting rid of his inhibitions.

_Somebody save me!_

By the will of some higher powers, his desperate plea was heard. Shinobu, carrying two big cups, had wiggled and jostled his way through the crowd, and insinuated himself, with hasty apologies, between Misaki and the sympathetic blond. He held out one of them before he commanded, "Drink."

Misaki paused with his nose over the brim of the glass. The smell of it was weird.

"It's called Rail Split," Shinobu declared proudly, trying to pronounce each word clearly over the raging music. "Red Bull mixed with some shit smelling like a coffee and rum. The bartender said it's the best pick-me-up what we can get here." Seeing the doubting expression in his friend's face he added, "Don't worry, no alcohol in it, as we agreed."

Indeed, to get drunk a night before another work or school day was not the idea behind visiting the clubs. How they would reason the state of their bodies to their lovers, without uncovering their little secret, was not an unimportant technicality either.

For Shinobu, their dancing nights were meant to be an absolute workout. For Misaki … he'd gone on about this topic more than enough. His phone buzzed then and the earlier thoughts prompted him to pick it up and, just this once, properly answer the call. Contrary to all the previous longing he reassured himself, he was only doing it because his ever caring Usagi-san, who must have missed him so much, was definitely running out of patience and feeling left behind.

Poking a floating ice-cube with his lips, the boy started to sip the miracle energy drink as he deftly fished his Nokia out and brought it to his ear. Instead of the expected low, husky voice making his name sound like a sinful incantation, the resonance of a phenomenal beat struck out at his hearing—the beat of the song with which a DJ was rinsing this club at this very moment.

Misaki's dance glazed eyes widened and snapped into shock, then wariness. He stopped drinking. In fact, he almost choked on the liquid already filling his throat. He sputtered and whatever was left inside, spurted out, sparing nothing in its path. The spray of disgusting fluid hit Shinobu squarely in the chest, which, in an attempt of self-preservation, sent his body reeling back, which jolted the closest person behind him and knocked the glass against the man's teeth while he tried to finish the cocktail in it. Akihito slapped a palm over his jarred lip, "What the fuck?!"

It was too late; the 'Bloody Mary' was already all over him.

For the second time in a very short while, Shinobu apologized to the awfully pretty blond guy, not at all his type, for drenching him with his own drink. The messy interlude, of what started as a promising night out, had definitely earned them the attention from everyone around. Only after that did he turn to save his out of control buddy who, even as he gulped at the remains of the flood in his mouth, struggled to scream out,

"A…Ai, Takatsuki-kun, Usag—Usami-san is here!"

This didn't apparently surprise the younger boy, though his appearance took on a more murky tone. He set his hard, grey eyes up to Misaki, then down to the bar following the trajectory of his sight with an outstretched finger.

"I know," he murmured as his finger reached the novelist's face. "Ah, I was about to tell you I'd seen him at the bar. He didn't notice me, though, that stalk…"

All tender notions toward his lover left aside, Misaki finished,"… stalking bastar…," or at least he tried.

Shinobu twisted to the side to see what had halted his words. Misaki didn't pursue the view he had pointed out any more, but squinted in bafflement through the glare of the lights at someone next to Shinobu's shoulder. It was the familiar, light-haired model-like dude.

Due to the bad transmittal condition of the sound, even with the bass, for some reason, lowered down, and due to incoherent babbling of the skinny, green-eyed boy, for whom his initial fondness vanished as fast as it raised up, Akihito's brain automatically connected 'sami-san' with the vocal 'A' that completed the only name he carried in his mind. And thanks to the direction given by the other punk, Akihito was now gaping at his own lover—Asami-san. The man, who had mastered his body, heart and partly freedom for more than a year, was having a smoke at the bar. The stalking bastard, he was; the boys were right. But Asami was _his_ stalking bastard!

The future lawyer assessed the situation in the space of seconds: two guys staring possessively at another guy.

_No, that doesn't make sense! _Shinobu shook his head as if to joggle his frantic thoughts into place before he tried to summarize his observation again.

The victim of the spilling accident was looking pointedly at Misaki's guy, with the mixture of heated and dreamy expressions in his brilliantly blue eyes, while the spirit in the Misaki's green pools was sinking to a black pitch of confusion and doubt. As his radiance changed to agitation, a fierce feelings of sympathy and even over-protectiveness filled Shinobu's chest. The grey-eyed boy decided to act.

Contemplating their blond adversary with a cool look, that was when Shinobu uttered the severely fated sentence.

"Do you like what you see?"

Akihito cocked his head to the side and in self-righteous anger spat at the smart ass. "You must have some nerve to ask! I think you're mistaken. _You_ are staring at something you should not!"

Misaki's breathing stopped short as a violent tension knotted his lungs. He could not believe his ears nor his eyes. However, in Shinobu's case, as a result, the brutal self-assurance killed all the golden boy's good manners in an instant. Sure, he could smell alcohol around the blond, but he could not be that drunk as to not know what he was babbling about.

Disregarding his obvious disadvantages in height and build, Shinobu jumped toward the boy with a single-minded intention to splash his 'Rail Split' drink into that flawless face and cool down that conceited punk's attitude. He only froze when a large hand dropped lightly on his shoulder.

"Oi boys, chill out! It'd be a shame to waste your money like that," a friendly voice called from above. There were two of them with slightly flushed, smiley faces, about the same age and similar outfits to that of the aplomb guy, the enemy's buddies no doubt.

Cheerful Kou put an arm around Akihito's shoulder, steering him easily away from what he assumed was a troublesome and tipsy guest. Nothing unusual.

"So, what's wrong?"

Shinobu never heard the answer as the three heads, sunny, hazel nut and jet black, tilted toward each other, with the familiarity of best friends, for open-hearted banter. Misaki heard nothing either, not that he cared.

Retreated to their original position, about a meter apart from his 'out of the blue rival', and with blond's buddy securely between them, Misaki stared blindly into his almost full cup, fighting the blankness of his mind.

"Who is he anyway? Have you met him somewhere?" Shinobu's irritated voice penetrated his brain.

Indeed, that was the right question. Misaki sunk into the murky thoughts. He tried to remember seeing the young man anywhere around receptions, award ceremonies, interviews or at Marukawa offices. No, he was not from the industry. Misaki would have noticed this sparkling boy if he was. Then again, he was not always with Usagi-san during his social activities. It had to be one of those times, then. One of the few times he wasn't around. It must have been then that his partner met...actually, who was this guy?

Further to rationalize the boy's existence in Akihiko's life Misaki came up with a quite possible option: he was a media person; he could be a journalist of some sort. They were always buzzing around Usagi-san like bees around a flower, which promised a bounty of sweet nectar.

'Nectar'. Misaki grimaced over the double entendre. His bitter expression reflected on the surface of his drink. He resumed sipping. For the most of them, the young, aspiring reporters, the 'nectar' was an interview of their dreams with the highly established author, who was also highly reclusive and an unreachable man. For others, 'nectar' carried a _literal_ meaning and some of them wanted both. Opening himself to the latter, he became more anxious by the minute. He started taking bigger gulps.

Misaki realized he was unaware of his boyfriend's 'social' life when they weren't together. He even started to surmise the reasons behind the man's contravening the rules of trust. It made sense in a weird way. It might have been convenient for Usagi to play an understanding partner almost for two months while he had another relationship behind Misaki's back. Maybe he wasn't even here to spy on he was here to meet this other guy and all three of them happened to meet in the same place at the same time on freaking accident!

Misaki's head hurt. Each gulp of the cool liquid seemed to fuel his desire for answers. Everything came to a head and exploded when he heard the stranger speak his lover's name.

In truth, he heard just a little fraction of Akihito's lengthy monologue, where he explained to his puzzled friends how the presence of a certain over-controlling and patronizing man is the cause of his sour mood. Still, Misaki's ears picked only these few, familiar words from the jungle of noise:

"…it's always Aki here, Aki there and usually Akihi…"

Outraged by the intimate way this scoundrel addressed his lover, Misaki squeezed his empty glass tight, spun to the side and fired up the derisive question.

"Have we met before? Who the hell are you? Reporter? Or photographer? Someone like that?! How could you possibly cross his path?!"

To Akihito, it felt like a slap in the face. His brain reeled too, revolved around the possible relations between his man and the boy with soft chocolate hair. The man who had ruthlessly claimed Akihito as his; had made him into a house wife, or rather, a housekeeper with benefits. The man who saved his life more than once and the man who loved him. At least, that's what Akihito though. He had never heard the man actually say the words aloud, and yet, this man entertained himself with somebody else. Oh, how more naïve could Akihito get?!

"And even if I am those things," Akihito snapped back. "I don't need to explain myself to any chibi-tan! Ai, and don't you think you're some star because he got interested in you for a while?"

"Oh, so it is again about Asami-san?" Takato, the dark one, bent to Akihito's ear first then took a quick glance down to the bar at the supposed benefactor of their night out and the 'bastard stalker' in one, about whom Akihito had been grumbling vehemently, until now.

However, a meter away, in the enemy camp, Misaki's impaired hearing filtered from the ruckus, "Oh so it's again about Usami-san?" The blond nodded and Misaki, with sinking heart and nervous tremor in the voice, muttered the devastating conclusion about the probable infidelity of Usagi-san to his friend.

"Some journalist got his fancy."

"You are joking; he's not even his type!" Shinobu's eyebrow rose up as he sat an inquisitive eye on the pretty guy. Resentment welled up inside the future man of law; he just had to voice his feelings to the company in front of them.

"It must be some sensation hungry reporter. A photographer or paparazzo, a crook eager to do anything for his first big scoop, journalist junk."

At that moment a wave of excitement swept through the club accompanied by spreading clouds of pale fluff from the downstairs up. Then all the rush stalled, people grew disoriented, engulfed in the mist. For a fraction of time they slowed their movements, paused their shouts, and, into the lonely beats of music, somebody screamed, "You Punk!"

Before a fog bomb, boosting the dance show on, exploded also on the second floor, Misaki spotted the two pairs of hands that grappled for Shinobu's collar. Akihito's two friends were attempting to avenge the badmouthed young man. He could feel the glass hastily pressed into his palm, and in a flurry of hushed, frantic movements and sinister sounds, which drowned in the hollered ovation of the crowd, Shinobu was dragged away.

Once the white smoke settled down, a pale head, like the statue of some mythical God, emerged. It bore very alive and very angry blue eyes. Startled at first, Misaki paid it no heed. He was on the mission. Twisting to the right, he started to elbow his way through the wall of bodies to find Shinobu and help him out of the thrashing he was certainly receiving because of him!

He didn't make it far before a provocative voice and hand on his arm halted his forward motion.

"Turning tail on me already, chibi-tan?!"

Misaki used the empty cup to smack intrusive fingers off. "If you want to talk then come with me!" he shouted irritably over his shoulder.

"Talk to whom?" the impudent rival drawled out contemptuously. Still, he followed Misaki's steps until they both wormed their way to the sitting area along the wall on the back side of the balcony. The light, shiny tables laden with scattered snacks, bottles and unfinished cups, were abandoned while the break-dancers' performance attracted their occupants' attention.

"I can't believe he would set his eyes on such chibi-tan as you. You don't suit him. You can't even stand your own ground!" the blond barked in a bitter tone Misaki failed to notice. He could not take it anymore! He was twenty-three already and nobody called or would call him chibi-tan, not even his sassy boss Isaka-san! With the courage of one's righteous convictions, Misaki spun around, holding his head high.

"You know what? My friend was right. You are a stuck-up show off, attention seeker, journalist junk indeed!"

That earned him a punch.

The world went black and very quiet for a moment. By sheer will-power Misaki stayed upright. His two empty glasses crunched against the ground, and if they broke into the million pieces, he didn't care. The only sensation that filled his mind was the severe stinging, shooting through his nose, arising into the corners of his eyes, from where the tears were trying to make their way out. With back of his hand, Misaki wiped the warm rivulet of blood off of his face. _No, he would not cry._

"Shut up!" Akihito commanded. His Asami having an illicit lover was one thing, but his professional pride was an entirely different matter. Hurt and wrath overlaid his fine features as he decided to give as much of it as he had received. Akihito bent over the injured punk, "Your tongue is sly like a girl's would be. You look like a girl too." He shifted closer and sniffed theatrically, "you even smell like one."

Akihito knew the smell on the boy very well; dwelling under the aroma of cologne, were the scents of cooking, laundry and dishwashing cleaner. They stuck on his skin. _This one does house chores too. Perhaps, at Asami's other place…wherever he spends his days while I live in the place where he spends his nights._ Enraged, he lashed out.

"I bet you even fight like a girl!"

The insult hit the very core of Misaki's self-esteem. It stung more than the punch and yet, he pushed himself to recover fast.

He assumed a proper position, across from the provocateur. His newly found fighter's spirit was fueled by fury while the superb drink had aptly provided him with an extraordinary boost of energy. Summoning the years of childhood karate experience, into what he believed would be his final answer, Misaki struck out. His perfectly curled fist shot hard against the boy's chest and in the next second his foot landed flatly at his rival's crotch.

Akihito, surprised and breathless, tottered backward then crashed down between the tables and chairs. He took a couple of them, along with his body, to the ground.

"Aaaa!" Misaki yelled from full lungs, "I'll show you how girls fight!"

The boy dashed after his enemy but was swept up abruptly by a muscular arm in the black suit sleeve before he ended up in the air_. A bouncer?!_ Misaki's face writhed from the pain as his attacking hand was twisted expertly to the side.

He must have resembled a flying circus clown.

There was a solid torso pressed to his back and he had only enough freedom to tip his head and glance up to meet a stern face framed with curly, short-cropped hair. Nevertheless, the man's voice was amused when he commented, "That was a good try. However, brawls and damaging someone's property is not allowed." With that, Kirishima, Asami's right hand man, manhandled Misaki away.

* * *

...

"Hmm, the 'Rail Split' is what takes for you to put a man down?"

Usami Akihiko looked up, regarding his lover with the hint of mischief in his lavender eyes. Over the course of listening to Misaki's recollection of the 'misunderstanding' between the boys in the club, he had moved from behind his desk toward the sofa and now was stretched on the carpet in front of the occupied seat. He purred with contentment, after what he had heard and more after what he had surmised, like a domesticated cheetah at his master's feet.

"Oi, Usagi-san, I'm serious here! I had hurt him! With my hands and worse, with my words! I behaved like a total jerk!" Misaki claimed with urgency, to steer Akihiko from his perverted way of twisting the facts.

"That's all what it takes for you to put a man down."

Ignoring his lover, Akihiko speculated about it, all the same, as he rested his head against Misaki's knee. Soft, silver locks tickled the boy's bare skin. "We're going to have to call the club owner and drag the secret of their body booster potion out of him. We might have a lot of use for it."

"It was not only that! I told you, I also used my karate forward thrust!" His boy, a fine young man soon, stopped short, crimson staining his cheeks.

"Ah yes, karate. Neither you nor Takahiro ever told me that you had done sports as a child. Now," Akihiko leered, "show me your special move."

"Oi baka Usagi!" Misaki's patience burned out and he lunged down without a second thought.

He landed on all fours over Akihiko's chest and hips, and curled his fingers slightly around Akihiko's wrists as he slammed them to either side of the silvery head. And then he froze. They both were breathing hard, facing each other, only a little space between them. Akihiko, usually the dominant one, was under him and pliant, his lavender eyes were soft yet serious.

Years by Misaki's side had taught Akihiko a bit of tact in dealing with his lover. But today, he was exceptionally thoughtful, even avoiding feeling smug so he would not further faze the boy after his revelation. Filtered information, sufficient for him to understand and finally confirming what had at first seemed to be his wild theory. At last, he had gained Misaki's trust with this embarrassing secret, and, in the spur of the moment, Akihiko decided to voice his happiness and pride at being object of his Misaki's unfound but nonetheless fiercely jealous fight.

"Thank you for loving me."

Misaki's throat started to burn and his hold on Akihiko tightened. The countenance of his lover blurred in his vision field as he delved down rapidly to close those impertinent lips.

Needless to say, he had no chance to show any karate moves.

TBC

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A/N: Um, boys need to make up :) I hope you enjoyed this one and please let me know your thoughts. Thanks for your time!


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